What Is and Isn't Mine
by Kavi Leighanna
Summary: Friendship with superheroes in the aftermath of the Triskelion is hard enough. Anything more should be out of the question. Should be. (Captain Hill - budding romance) FIXED REPOST.
1. Chapter 1

**What Is and Isn't Mine**  
><em>Tie a Yellow Ribbon Series - Part 1<em>

He's always associated Maria Hill with quiet, unwavering strength. It's a belief she's only solidified as they've worked together, as he'd adjusted to having her as a point person just as often as he had Fury or Sitwell. But the woman who stands at the end of his hospital bed looks way more shaken than he's used to.

"Did you know I would do it?"

He blinks. That isn't on his list of questions he'd expected her to ask. Then again, he hasn't been expecting her to show up in the first place. "I beg your pardon?"

She huffs, her spine straight even though her knuckles are white on his bedframe. "Did you know I would blow the helicarriers with you on board."

He watches her carefully for another moment. He isn't naive and he isn't stupid. There are two questions wrapped up in her words and only one he's really ready to answer.

"I knew you would make the right decision."

She snorts, her knuckles tightening and releasing on his footboard. "You almost died. Shit, Steve, you're lucky to be alive."

He ignores the shiver her use of his given name sends down his spine. "Soldiers die in battle."

Her face is a mask of frustration, emotion so clear he's honestly surprised. A woman so carefully contained and yet it's one of handful of times he's seen the emotion so clear on her face. "Some soldiers aren't meant to be sacrificed."

"Don't," he orders, maybe too harshly, but he can't take the way she seems to be struggling, the way she can't keep still, can't stop fidgeting. "Don't put me on a pedestal I never asked for."

She blows out an exasperated breath – and he refuses to find it adorable, because Maria is not 'adorable' – and watches her finally step around the end of his bed. The dress is new and he finds himself blinking at the sophisticated picture she makes. "You look beautiful."

To his complete and utter surprise she blushes and slides her hands over the skirt in a surprising display of self-consciousness. "I had a job interview."

He swallows and glances away the guilt eating him from the stomach out. "Sorry."

"Steve," she says with a snort. "I agreed." Her eyes are solemn now. "There were problems. We all know that. Even Fury knew that. It all had to go."

The words were irrationally painful and he looks away.

She sighs. "I'm glad you're okay."

He offers her a half smile. "Because there's less paperwork?"

He hates the way her smile didn't reach her eyes. He wonders if he's ever really seen her smile. He wonders if he ever will and finds a piece of his mind almost begging to do it, to make her laugh.

"What now?" he asks almost desperately.

"They've subpoenaed me for the committee hearings. I'm sure Romanoff has mentioned those."

It had been Sam, actually, but Steve nods regardless.

"And someone has to clean up Pierce's mess." There's something in her eyes, a weariness and wariness hidden behind a determination he is well-acquainted with. She surprises him when she bends down, retrieving a bag that is much to big for him to really believe it's hers, even as she slides it over her shoulder. The card she pulls from one of its many pockets is, however, familiar. "Turns out, job interviews go a lot better when you're already friends with the CEO."

He takes the card, lets his eyes dance over her name and the number beneath.

"When you go after Barnes call me," she says. "I may be able to help."

"Why?"

She flashes him another smile he hates, this one brittle and bitter. "Because sometimes it's nice to have people in your life you know you can trust."

She walks from his room then, doesn't once look back, but he taps the card against his palm as he watches her in those heels. He knows he'll call her because after all they've been through at the very least he wants to count her as a friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**What Is and Isn't Mine**  
><em>Tie a Yellow Ribbon Series - Part 1<em>

The quinjet waits patiently on the landing platform of Avengers Tower and so does Steve. He takes it in, his favourite city, the backdrop of the skyscrapers and the river, the way the summer heat rises up in waves from the streets. It's his home, New York and while he knows he has to leave, has to do this, he feels a little empty at the idea. He doesn't feel as connected anymore.

Her heels wake him from his thoughts, purposeful and so damn strong on the concrete. He isn't sure what it is when he turns to look, but he finds himself admiring her every step, the way her skirt hints at her knees, the flex of her calves. He's been noticing a lot of that since her hospital visit.

"Captain."

"Lieutenant."

She's beautiful, of course. He's known that for much longer than he'd like to admit. She'd been beautiful in the hospital, on the helicarrier, when she's in control and when she's curled up on the couch for movie night because Pepper's bullied her into attending. He's drawn to her, he knows, at first because of the challenge of making her smile and then because that smile, the rare real thing, is just utterly devastating. But seventy years of sleep and super serum hasn't dealt with some of his other hang-ups. He's already thrown her life into free fall twice and he knows he's not stable enough to ask her for more than the information she's carrying in her hand.

"Here," she says, handing him the envelope. "Safe houses, resources, all along the west coast and all of the info I could get my hands on."

It's a lot, he knows, because he'd underestimated her once during an op off the coast of Côte d'Ivoire and hasn't done it again.

"They were SHIELD's," she goes on. "So be careful. We've had some uprisings out there."

He nods, flicking his fingers along the corner. "Think we'll find him?"

She seems unfazed, like there she isn't surprised by the question. "From what I know of the Winter Soldier, he'll be found when he's ready, and not before. Even if your friend is in there."

He tries not to deflate. He hadn't realized how much he wanted her support. She matters, he knows, has known for a while. What he hadn't understood was how much she matters. He can feel it in the way his fingers twitch, the way he wants to brush the hair that's whipping across her face behind her ears. She wears her hair down a lot now.

"But," she goes on, tosses her head to get that strand out of the way. "I know what it's like to have people who are important come back from the dead. Second chances are rare, and I can't judge you for wanting that."

It's not unequivocal, but he takes it. After all, she's almost single-handedly responsible for the presence of the quinjet in the first place. When she'd told him to call, he hadn't quite expected this. She's made herself invaluable, whether she realizes it or not, both to his need to find Bucky and to him. He wants to tell her, wants to explain so many things, wants to step towards her and splay his hand over the bottom of her back, just once.

"Lieutenant, Cap."

Maria steps away – when had they stepped that close? – as Sam approaches, duffle bag swung over his shoulder. Steve offers Sam a nod, trying to get rid of the tight feeling in his chest.

"Ready?" he asks.

Sam grins. "For sun and sand on the west coast? Who isn't?"

Steve feels the smile twitch at the corner of his mouth, but there's also a seriousness in the lines on Sam's face, like he knows exactly what this mission means to Steve. He glances away into the sun, because it seems like all of the people around him know what this means. And they're supporting him.

He faces Maria after a moment. "Thank you," he says, trying to put everything into two insignificant words; affection and gratitude and awe and appreciation all mixed up. He'll miss her, he realizes.

She nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know where I am."

He doesn't let himself lead between the lines, doesn't let himself believe they even exist. Instead, he nods.

"Steve," she calls, just as he climbs on the ramp. He turns to find she's still standing there, hasn't moved a muscle, hair still blowing in the wind. He wants to draw her, he realizes, the strength in her shoulders, the vulnerability in her face. "Be safe."

He knows his surprise is more than a little evident, but he manages a nod and a slight smile. "I will," he answers. "See you, Maria."

As the quinjet takes off he watches her out of the ramp until the pilots have to pull it up. And even then, he can see her if he closes his eyes, see the way she becomes smaller and smaller.


	3. Chapter 3

**What Is and Isn't Mine**  
><em>Tie a Yellow Ribbon Series - Part 1<em>

She groans as her phone rings just as she's sliding her key into her apartment door. She's wanted a night, that's all. A moment, a break, a chance to be petty and part over the fact that she'd been passed over for the 'promotion' to rebuild SHIELD. And it is petty, she knows. There are a million reasons why Coulson is an infinitely better selection, not the least of which is the fact that despite her belief in the cause, she does not envy his job of rebuilding. But she's not immune to the strange sting she'd felt when Pepper – _Pepper_ knew before she did and if she ever tracked Fury down, she was going to wring his neck for not telling her himself – passed on the information.

So she'd left work early because the petty anger that she hates had been making her damn useless, with every intention of wallowing for a night because she's human dammit and she does feel emotion despite her reputation. The ringing phone does not bode well for her original plan.

"Hill," she snaps into the phone.

"Maria."

His voice washes over her, makes her shoulders slump and sag in ways they shouldn't. She can't say she's actively missed him since seeing him off, but there's a strange hollow ache that seems to feel less jagged at it's edges as his voice floats over the line. It's a feeling she refuses to let herself dissect with any sort of focus.

"Is this a bad time?"

She wants to say yes because it has been a long, emotional day and the very idea of thumbing through information on Barnes makes her stomach roll. She opens her mouth to tell him so. "No, of course not."

And then there's a gust of his breath over the line and her heart flips over. Because of course when a man as good and wholesome and wonderful as Steve Rogers asks for help finding the only connection to a life he hadn't really wanted to leave, she can't help but give it. She's not a cold woman, not really.

"What do you need, Captain?"

"Steve," he says, with a strength that does not heat her stomach and does not sound like an order. "I need a friend."

Her mouth drops open. "I'm sorry?"

"I just-"

She waits still and silent and still standing with her coat and shoes on, keys dangling from her hand.

"Am I ever going to find him?"

She doesn't know what to say. She'd told him on the landing platform what she felt, that she was sure he wouldn't, that the Winter Solider would not be found until he was ready, no matter what Steve did, but she doesn't say it.

"Maria?"

"I'm here." Her voice does not crack. It just doesn't.

"I just- I've been out here for weeks, chasing down lead after lead and sometimes I feel it, I feel the way I'm just a breath away."

She swallows thickly, manages to kick her heels off and pad to the couch, phone still pressed to her ear. She curls her legs beneath her and propped her arm on the back of the couch.

"But he's not there, he's never there and what if he's never going to be there?"

Reassurance is what he needs, that this isn't a wild goose chase and his months on the road with nothing to show for it have been worth it. But she's honestly not sure she can do that. She doesn't have the pretty language for him like she'd had at Avengers' Tower.

"We tore everything down," he says his voice a rumble that does not do things to her insides. "And we made the right decision, the only decision, but-"

"It never seems like enough."

"No."

Silence falls, holds, but it's not uncomfortable. It should be uncomfortable.

"Fury wants to rebuild SHIELD."

"From his grave?"

She laughs a little. She's forgotten about his deadpan sense of humour. "No. He's got men for that."

He waits a beat, like he's not totally sure he wants to say it but then it comes out. "No women?"

She sighs. She should be better. She is better. She is a spy, a secret-keeper and she's better than letting Steve hear the bitterness she shouldn't be feeling because _God_ she does not want to have to go recruiting, flying all over the world, she wants to make a damn difference and while she may have had her eye on the director's chair at SHIELD, it was wholly under the belief that she could change things, make people see the humanity in each other and keep the world safe from the things they weren't ready to handle.

Because at her core, Maria isn't cold or selfish. A career woman, yes, a woman willing to throw everything else aside for that career, but she is a good person. Even if everyone else forgets.

"I can do more at Stark."

"Maybe," he says and she's surprised by the support she feels in the one word, like if he could go to bat for her, he would. "You've been invaluable to me."

She has a million replies, all of them on the tip of her tongue about how she hasn't helped him because they always seem to be a step behind, never seem to be able to catch up to the Winter Solider and now he's on the other end of the phone asking her to tell him they will, that Steve will find is friend, and she hates that she can't make that promise. But she swallows them back.

"Are you coming home then?"

His laugh is bitter. God, so bitter. "Home to where? To what?"

Maria looks at her ceiling, tilts her head back against the cushions. "Stark's been making noise about moving everyone into the Tower."

"We're not some giant fraternity."

Her laugh is a little more genuine. "No. But you know him."

They both did, knew what his file said about abandonment issues and saw how some days he could just cling to Pepper like he'll lose her any second. Maria's not fooled. Moving everyone into the Tower is as much about having people around as it is about trying to give each of them a place to belong.

"Barton's already moved in. Rumour has it Romanoff has said yes, though as far as I know she hasn't returned stateside." She's talking now, rambling almost and she wants to say she doesn't understand it but she's too smart for that. She's just not sure whom, exactly, she's trying to talk into falling in line. "Bruce loves the labs, all of his toys."

"And you?"

And there's that feeling again, like her answer is going to mean something she doesn't want it to mean. She weighs them carefully. "I think I've mixed work and play a little too much for one lifetime. It's nice to have somewhere to go. Somewhere that's just mine."

He hums and she feels like she's passed a test, said the right things. She hates the way her stomach warms at the thought. He's never mattered, really, a soldier in the overall battle they're always fighting, but after DC, after all of this hunting, she's having a hard time as seeing him as 'just' a soldier. She's having a hard not seeing him as a good man. And even if the man is attractive as hell with a heart of gold, she knows she's not anywhere near his type; not at all what he deserves.

"I'll think about it," he finally says.

And she isn't sure what makes her say it but she blurts, "Come home, Steve."

He blows out a breath and it's loud and harsh. "Maria-"

"Come home," she says again, this time strong because she is not weak. There are no pleas in her voice, nothing but affirmation and a hard line. It's an order. A personal one.

"I'll think about it."

She hangs up on him because she hates the way it hurts.


	4. Chapter 4

**What Is and Isn't Mine**  
><em>Tie a Yellow Ribbon Series - Part 1<em>

The day Steve returns from the west coast – and yes, she knows because she may or may not have checked on his progress on top of the texting and calling that have become both habit and pleasant routine – he shows up at her apartment with two takeout cups from Starbucks.

"Maria."

She pretends his voice isn't filled with affection and relief, cursing the fact that the good captain has always been a terrible liar. "Steve. Welcome home."

She's irrationally angry at him, hurt that her moment of vulnerable pain in all but begging him to come home – at least the way she sees it – he'd waited three weeks to do it. But she can't deny that regardless of that, she is absolutely thrilled to see him. Even with his heavy bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders still look like they're carrying the weight of the world.

_He could use a friend_, she reminds herself because that is what they are. They are friends and she is strong enough to just get over whatever has her stomach melting at the little smile on his face and the way his fingers brush hers as he hands over the paper cup. She can give him friendship. It's a pipe dream to think she can give him more, even if everything in her is all but straining towards him. She is, however, more controlled than that and knows that she isn't really leaning forward, stepping closer.

His eyes are so blue and so warm as he says, "Come to the market with me."

Her brow crawls up her forehead as she takes her first sip. Glorious, glorious caffeine, even if it's her third hit for the day. Even on her days off she wakes early. "Are you bribing me, Captain?"

"Only if it's working, Lieutenant," he answers with a broad grin.

She hates the way the smile tugs at her mouth. He's too damn charming and she's too damn pleased at the attention for any of it to be healthy. So she hides it behind another gulp of coffee, eyeing him over the plastic lid. "The market?"

He leans against her doorframe, casual and damn attractive and she knows that the use of their official titles hasn't done anything to help her keep her distance. "There's one not far from my apartment. Um, old apartment."

Brooklyn.

"It's my day off."

He looks a bit chagrined. "I, uh, knew that."

It makes her blink because it feels deliberate. Like, he'd checked to make sure she'd be free before he showed up. It's entirely too significant, entirely too close to 'more than friends' and yet she doesn't close the door in his face. She tells herself she doesn't like the attention, but as he looks down at her, she knows it's a lie she's having a hard time believing.

"My very rare day off," she says, because if it is significant she's not going to make it easy for him. She is not easy, by any extent of the imagination and in her experience, men give up. "And you want to take me shopping."

"To the market," he corrects subtly and she thinks this would be a moment where a man attracted would reach for her, would settle a broad hand on her hip, maybe slide it up to her waist, even as he continues to lean casually against her door. She just barely suppresses the shiver that races pleasantly down her spine. "I'll make it worth your while."

And that does not help. He doesn't mean it the way it comes out, with an underlying heat and gentle tease. He doesn't think like that, even if her body goes into overdrive. But Maria Hill is nothing if not controlled and she stomps down on whatever it is. He's attractive, is all, and charming, and it's just a crush that she will get over because he's Captain America and she's very much not and anything other than a crush spells disaster of epic proportions. Her life is already in shambles; she's just putting it back together. She's not stupid enough to add another complication, no matter how wonderful he may be.

Even so.

"You want to cook for me?"

Because she's heard the rumours. Romanoff and Barton both. Pepper too, has bragged about some rather inventive and wonderful meals Steve's put together. She figures it makes sense. They'd boiled everything when he was last "alive" and she suspects that the leaps and bounds in culinary technology would be interesting.

"Consider it a thank you," he says. "For helping."

"I sent you information, Steve, you don't-"

"Not that."

It's soft and full of Captain America's conviction – the kind she'd heard on the helicarrier when he'd rallied the troops into battle – and it cuts her off quick. She takes a slow, deep breath. He glances away, then back at her. She can read everything on his face and finds herself swallowing around the lump that forms in her throat.

"Life's too short to let people live day to day not knowing they're important. So come to the market with me, let me make you dinner. Okay?"

And how is she supposed to say no?

So she dons jeans and a t-shirt, pulls a leather jacket on top and yanks her hair into a ponytail. Minimal makeup because it is still her day off and she is not dressing up, no sir, no way. He's waiting for her at her front door and stands as she locks up. He blushes when she catches him staring.

"Still not used to seeing you out of uniform," he admits. "It's… Nice."

"I own real clothes," she says, probably a touch too defensive.

He gives her a look that makes her feel like a chastised schoolgirl. "I know there's more to you than the soldier, Maria."

Her stomach drops and her heart flips, her pulse pounding loud in her ears as they take the elevator down. The implication is terrifying because it means he'd seen things in her she's only just now discovering for herself.

God, he's making it hard to take a step back here.

It's stupid, really. The fact that she's even developed these… feelings. She knows better, so much better, because he's good and pure and she comes from such a dark background that she's lucky she ended up on this side of the law and not the other. She works too much, shares too little, and puts her career before literally everything in her life. That is not the type of woman that fits Steve Rogers, good, wholesome Steve Rogers.

And it's all because of a bunch of phone calls and texts – a lot of phone calls and texts, plenty of them late at night where she irrationally lets him coax her into going home even though she has a ridiculous amount of work to do – that she's even entertaining his market date.

Day.

Market day.

Market morning.

The bike waits for them at the curb, like he knew he'd be able to convince her to come. She wants to be upset and angry at his presumption, but she sees Steve exchange a polite and friendly handshake with her doorman Andrew and knows she's been played.

"Pretty confident in yourself, Captain."

He grins and hands her a helmet. It is the worst ride through the city she's ever had. And by worst, she means best, because she's pressed up against Steve flipping Rogers and his very, very strong back and she is human and he is attractive. So yes, she enjoys the ride more than she should because, it dawns on her she's missed him. Genuinely missed him. His hand falls to hers as she grips tighter involuntarily. There's concern in his eyes when he pulls to a stop and they dismount. She doesn't play stupid, doesn't belittle him like that and offers him a small but entirely genuine smile.

"I'm glad you're home."

He shocks her completely by yanking her into him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to hold her in place. It's just a hug, she tells herself, she can deal with a damn hug if it's what he needs.


	5. Chapter 5

**What Is and Isn't Mine**  
><em>Tie a Yellow Ribbon Series - Part 1<em>

He doesn't scream when the nightmare yanks him from sleep, but it's a near thing. He's shaking, he knows, but that's the extent of what he's aware of until he manages to get his brain back online.

It's dark. Probably late. The apartment is hers and the couch comfortable. The scene flickering on the television is not from the movie he'd been watching with Maria and -

Maria.

They'd been tired. Long days and longer meetings, consulting and a few HYDRA cells that just refuse to stay dead. They're closer now too. He feels it and every once in a while, he looks over to find a soft, surprised look on her face. Like he's not supposed to be real, but she's glad he is. In those moments, he wants to reach for her. He feels it like an itch down to his blood.

He never does.

They're friends. Good friends. Very good friends. It's been a long time since he's had a friend like her and he doesn't want to risk messing that up for something he may very well be imagining. But then he'll turn and look at her, and he's almost positive he's not imagining the affection in her eyes or the ease of her touch. And as he sits up on the couch he feels the itch grow stronger, a need slipping into his blood. The nightmare hadn't even been about her, but there is a yearning to find her, to just sit with her.

It's a yearning he gives into. Tossing off the blanket - so she'd left him here, because he definitely doesn't remember the blanket but he does remember the look of her, legs curled beneath her body, toes tucked behind his back. She's always telling him he's so damn warm for a man frozen for 70 years - he heads towards the door she's left pulled. A door he knows she always closes.

"Steve?"

His head hangs out of reflex. He hates the idea that he's woken her. He knows she has trouble sleeping sometimes, that she can't always stay in the deep sleep she needs and he abhors the idea of being at fault for her missing out on those quality cycles.

"Steve."

Her hair is ruffled, her face soft and she is so painfully beautiful. He swallows.

"Sorry."

"For?" she asks with a short laugh. She's hugging her blankets to her chest with one hand, the other runs through her hair. It does nothing to make it look less slept in, less rumpled. He likes her rumpled.

"You were sleeping."

She shrugs, then looks at him and he knows he's in trouble. "You weren't."

"Just woke up." He is not defensive. He has no reason to be defensive. Except that he's woken her up because of a damn nightmare he's had for years and he just-

He needs her.

He feels the knowledge settle like a weight, the same way it has every time it pops into his head. It's not that he doesn't like the idea of needing other people - he needed Bucky growing up, and his mom; Natasha and Sam in this incarnation of his life, though never the way he feels he needs Maria - but that he knows Maria doesn't. She is as independent as they come, almost starkly lonely, and the idea that she doesn't need him, that she could up and walk away at any given moment, terrifies the hell out of him.

"Steve."

It's quiet, his name, murmured with something in it that makes him respond. He doesn't realize he's moving until he's settling onto the edge of her bed, his back to her. She surprises him when she reaches out, when her palm settles flat against his back. His muscles turn to water, relax completely beneath her hand and she makes a sympathetic noise. He hears the bedclothes shift, then it's her whole front pressing against his back, her arms slipping around his waist. It's not a new position for them, though he'd been surprised the first time he'd tucked her against him and she'd come willingly. She doesn't really scream 'touchable', Maria.

"The ice?" she asks quietly because one vulnerable night when she'd been the one bolting upright on the couch - he hadn't moved, it was her place, he'd felt weird - he'd confessed to having them. It's not uncommon, he knows and even if he'd never experienced it, he's not stupid enough to think she's immune to them. Now at least. When he first met her, maybe, but he knows there's more to the woman curled up against his back than he'd first thought.

And it's the layers he's attracted to, the hard agent and the woman who can curl up against him like a cat. The warrior and the human being everyone forgets she is. He still vividly remembers the night she'd cleaned her gun while debating the reality of _The Departed_ - "There's no way bad guys miss that often," he can remember her saying. He kept poking because he could and he liked seeing her riled – and waking up to find her face still relaxed in sleep. She is a living juxtaposition, a woman he cannot figure out and isn't wholly sure he ever wants to.

He wraps his arms around hers, absently runs his fingers along her skin. She rests her cheek against his back. He wonders if she can hear the way his heart continues to race, in part with the remnants of his nightmare, but now also because it's her. It's her palms pressed against his abs, her breath against his back. He can feel the way her muscles relax, the way he holds her weight. It's exactly what he needs.

"You're safe," she murmurs.

His hands tighten on hers. "I know."

And yet, he still wants to turn around, wants to wrap himself around her and the way she still feels warm from her blankets. He wants to wrap himself around this piece of his new reality that he feels so much for.

She hums against his back and he wonders absently if she's falling asleep on him. But neither of them move, stuck, as it were, because he does not want to do something she's not looking for, no matter how much his heart yearns for it. He'll take this, the way her body wraps around his, the comfort it brings him to have her here, her touch, her skin beneath his fingertips. Then she huffs out a sigh that, rather adorably, turns into what sounds like a wide yawn.

"Come here, Steve."

And she's moving away, his back cold now. Under normal circumstances, when he's not still battling the feeling of being trapped in a block of ice, making a sacrifice that had been the right thing, even if it hadn't been what he'd signed up for, he doesn't think it would send shivers along his skin. But then he turns and she's snuggled into her pillow again, her eyes locked on his as she tugs at the covers.

"Come here," she says again and it takes him longer than it should to realize what she's asking.

"Maria-"

"Steve."

And normally he'd give into that tone, but he swallows. "You don't have to- I have a bed."

"You do."

She doesn't push him, she never has. She just offers him the option and he isn't strong enough to turn away. The pillows, the sheets, it all smells like her and he knows she watches him as he curls up on the mattress. He leaves space between them, because that's not who they are, no matter how much she wants it, but she huffs at him again and reaches out. She tugs on his wrist until she's closer, until she can turn her back to him and wrap his arm around her body. He can't help the way he curls against her, but he's careful, makes sure that his arm stays across her stomach. Not too high, not too low. Because she's giving him this and he promises himself he won't take advantage.

But he can't deny that having her there, being able to bury his face in her hair, is more of a comfort than anything he can think of. It's a tie to this time, to this life, to the life that he has built for himself. She is a tether, one that he wants like this permanently. But he also knows her, knows that relationships are not on her list and he needs her.

So this, he tells himself, will be enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**What Is and Isn't Mine**  
><em>Tie a Yellow Ribbon Series - Part 1<em>

It's Tony that actually brings it to her attention. She does not have time for tabloids on a good day and generally has no interest in them. She doesn't have time for the latest celebrity gossip when she knows Africa's falling apart and the Middle East isn't all that far behind. Plus there are issues in the Koreas, China, of course, and Russia's incursions into neighbouring countries are more than a little disconcerting.

She does not care that George Clooney is married.

But Stark, Maria knows, pays attention to these things. He has competitions with himself and whines to Pepper at length when they go more than six weeks without making a splash. And maybe that's why he'd thrown the party in the first place. It certainly explains why Pepper had all but begged her to be there. With everything that Pepper's done for her, being another familiar and friendly face in a sea of people is the least Maria can do.

Except, as it turns out, the article has nothing to do with the gala.

"You know, I would have taken you for a rock climber, maybe a parasailer, definitely a woman who would not mind repelling down a building just for fun, but a market? That's a little low key for you, isn't it?"

Maria blinks for a moment. He's caught her off-guard – not impossible these days because it turns out privatizing security does not mean the end of long, tedious meetings where she has to explain objectives, budgets and manpower – and it takes her a moment to collect herself.

"What are you talking about, Stark? And why are you in my office? I gave specific instructions to Henry not to let you past him."

"I snuck by while he was in the bathroom," Stark says without apology and taps the magazine he's spread open on her desk.

And there, in full, glossy colour, is a picture of her, arm and arm with Steve in his Brooklyn market. Their Brooklyn market. Maria settles her fingers on the page, traces them with remarkable gentleness over her face, then his. They look relaxed, she thinks. Arm and arm, laughing at something – from the look on his face, he's probably said something a bit witty and probably very, very smart – and even she has to admit they look… cozy.

"Something you want to share, Miss Hill?"

"Lieutenant," she corrects absently, because she's not really ready to answer his question.

She isn't sure how it feels, to be honest. On one hand, she hates it. It's an invasion of privacy during a normal, everyday outing in New York. It's her moment, her time, and yes, she chooses to spend it with Steve, but that market has nothing to do with Stark Industries and she absolutely abhors being in the news for any other reason. On another hand, it's terrifying. She's staring at herself, at Steve, and seeing what she thinks other people must see, why she gets knowing looks when he calls and she drops everything to pick it up; why, when Pepper gave her the gala tickets, she'd hinted that maybe Maria should bring Steve; why Natasha asks after the good captain when she calls and emails.

It shouldn't be there. They shouldn't be there, like they are, looking carefree and _together_ in ways that she doesn't deserve. Not considering her past. Captain America is everything good and wholesome. He is a good man, and considering the filleting she'd gone through during the Congress hearings, Maria knows she is not a good woman. She has too many dark corners and Steve would ask for all of them, she knows. And she also knows now, with a terrifying clarity, that she'd give it.

But there's a thrill too, because she is an intelligence agent and she can read the emotion on his face. Whatever she's going through, the emotions, the butterflies, the pounding heart, from the look on his face, he is too. There's warmth there, and more. Something much more heated and deep and Maria's breath catches.

"Do I need to ask after your intentions with Captain America?"

"We're friends," she answers without really meaning to. Part of her rears in irritation because she does not answer to Tony Stark, thank you very much. Part of her is too busy trying to figure out what to do. They name her, because her face had been everywhere and still is, considering her rank in Stark Industries and as she reads the article she discovers it's at least flattering, but something still grinds inside her.

"We didn't ask for this."

Stark, who had been mid-ramble, stops dead. "What?"

She doesn't get to repeat herself though. A breath later, her office door is swinging open and Steve is standing there, more than a little wild-eyed. She feels the agent take over, the side of her so good at being calm in the face of others' panic. And Steve, she can tell, is panicking.

"Did you see it?" And then he looks down at her desk, sees the shining pages and his shoulders droop. "You did."

"It's everywhere," Stark says gleefully. "You made the front page of The Enquirer."

"George Clooney got married and they can't find anything better to publish?" Maria finds herself saying in exasperation. "It's a trip to the market!"

"With Captain America."

The growl is real, vicious and more than a little threatening. Stark's half way out the door before she orders him out. He has the courtesy to close it behind him at least and leaves Steve and Maria alone.

"I hate this."

His words are so, so soft. Maria looks at him, pauses in going around her desk to face him. "Hate what?"

"Your life, my life, our life," he says passionately, anger and frustration shining in every word, in the sharp look of his eyes. "That's not for them to speculate on or talk about."

She bites down on her tongue, has to before she turns and tells him that this is different, that it's the way the world works. It's a piece of this modern world he has been very vocal about hating.

"It should be about the things you do, the people you save, not the fact that we were trying to enjoy a Saturday in New York."

She's not sure what makes her reach for him – _friends_ she reminds herself firmly, even as she cups his face in her palms. She refuses to find it intimate, even as his eyes flare. She resolutely ignores it. She doesn't care if he looks like he's half way there, she needs to be the stronger person. She needs to help him find better, because better is not her. But she knows touch is a comfort and she can give him that.

"I don't need accolades," she says firmly. "I don't need praise from a bunch of people I don't know and will never know. So they can speculate all they want. I know what's real and what matters and that's enough for me."

He surprises her when he hangs his head. "It's because you were with me."

She puts pressure on his cheeks, his chin and is completely surprised by the fear and trepidation she sees there. "Steve?"

His hands come to her hips, gripping desperately. "I didn't want this. I never wanted this. I just don't like bullies."

"I know," she tries to break in, to reassure him, but his grip tightens and she has to bite down on a yelp of surprise.

"I didn't ask for the way they follow my every move, the way I can't even go to a market with-" He cuts himself off and Maria bites down on asking what he'd wanted to say.

"This isn't my world."

She isn't sure why that hurts, why disappointment floods her chest. "It is now," she says firmly, because she's realized he responds to strength better than compassion.

He surprises her by stepping forward, stepping into her. She looks up and tries not to show the nerves jangling in her blood. She doesn't know what's happening and she hates the way it feels significant. "Steve?"

"Don't run."

"What?"

He glances away as his fingers flex on her hips. "Whatever- Whatever's been happening, with us, please tell me you won't run."

The words vibrate in her skin, spread heat through her veins. And it takes more courage than she's ever shown to meet his eyes and everything in them. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

The relief that floods his eyes makes the fear entirely worth it, changes in the ice she's been trying to use to keep him out. He could break her, shatter her and despite knowing this she knows in that moment, she's fallen anyway.

* * *

><p><em>Part II up December 1st. <em>

_Thanks for reading, and to those of you who messaged me about the original formatting issues, thanks for that too! _


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